"He was doing it very nicely, too," she admitted.
"You mean to say that you let him?"
"I listened to what he had to say," she confessed. "It didn't occur
to you, I suppose," her husband remarked, with somewhat strained
sarcasm, "that you were another man's wife?"
"I am doing my best to forget that fact," Philippa reminded him.
"I see! And he is to help you?"
"Possibly."
Sir Henry's irritation was fast merging into anger.
"I shall turn the fellow out of the house," he declared.
Philippa shrugged her shoulders.
"Why don't you?"
He seated himself on the couch by his wife's side. "Look here,
Philippa, don't let's wrangle," he begged. "I'm afraid you'll have
to make up your mind to see a good deal less of your friend
Lessingham, anyway."
Philippa's brows were knitted. She was conscious of a vague
uneasiness.
"Really? And why?"
"For one thing," her husband explained, "because I don't intend to
have him hanging about my house during my absence."
"The best way to prevent that would be not to go away," Philippa
suggested.
"Well, in all probability," he announced guardedly, "I am not
going away again--at least not just yet."
Philippa's manner suddenly changed. She laid down her work. Her
hand rested lightly upon her husband's shoulder.
"You mean that you are going to give up those horrible fishing
excursions of yours?"
"For the present I am," he assured her.
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